


Losing Focus (and patience while you're at it)

by annabelolee



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - High School, Fluff, M/M, atsumu's a photographer, he also has absolutely zero athletic ability, kind of mutual pining??, there's some angst if you squint hard enough, this is fluff let's be real
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-20
Updated: 2020-12-20
Packaged: 2021-03-11 01:09:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,672
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28196697
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/annabelolee/pseuds/annabelolee
Summary: Sakusa Kiyoomi, best known as the volleyball player with a personality not that much different from sewer mold, can’t seem to find the patience to deal with the photographer that scampers in to practice everyday just to point a camera at his face.In which...- Atsumu’s not an athlete- Sakusa’s experiencing a budding modelling career- And they’re both the most frustrating idiots this town (high school volleyball team) has ever seen
Relationships: Miya Atsumu/Sakusa Kiyoomi
Comments: 4
Kudos: 112
Collections: Haikyuu Secret Santa 2020





	Losing Focus (and patience while you're at it)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [majiburger](https://archiveofourown.org/users/majiburger/gifts).



> For [Xing](https://twitter.com/TARTAGLlAS)
> 
> I'm laughing so hard at how we're each other's secret santas HAHAHA! I really hope you like this - it's a bit messy and i've never written sakuatsu before, but I hope this is good! Have a very, very Merry Christmas!
> 
> (Rated T for swear words)

“I’m facing a crisis.”

Osamu rolls his eyes, spinning the volleyball in his hands. “What now?”

“I have a crush on Sakusa.”

Osamu explodes in a series of coughs. The ball drops, bouncing noisily on the floor before coming to a stop by the wall of the gym. The boy who’d originally held the ball spins around, eyes wide with surprise as his brother gloats. “ _Excuse me?_ ”

Atsumu nods vigorously, pulling up the photo on his camera. Osamu scampers over, gripping Atsumu’s shoulders tightly as he peers at the photo on the tiny glass screen.

An arched back. A raised arm. The light passes through the tall glass windows above the gym and cascades softly over the subject’s features, softening the dark hair and lighting up the intensity behind his determined expression. The air behind him is dark, bringing out his uniform and the white number on his dark jersey. There’s no one else visible in the image, sucking all attention to his gaze and the volleyball frozen midair over the net. He looks surreal. Osamu stares.

“Well?” Atsumu asks anxiously.

“Him? Really?”

“Are you making fun of me or him, ‘Samu?”

-

He approaches Sakusa a week later, wearing a red sweater and a pair of jeans that screams unyielding confidence. His clean, clean sneakers squeak across the gym floor, and he tosses his jacket carelessly onto the crowd of bags by the door. Sakusa sees his ugly face from all the way across the gym, and when those sharp golden eyes paired with the devious grin land on him, he can’t help but cringe in disgust.

“Kiyoomi-kun!” Atsumu shouts, jogging towards him, his finger flicking a switch on the camera slung around his neck. Sakusa glares and takes a couple of steps backwards, bumping into Kita, who, after looking up and noticing exactly who is heading over, winces and speed-walks away.

“Kiyoomi-kun!” Atsumu sings, wagging his eyebrows as he raises his camera in his hands. “Come here!”

“Leave me alone,” Sakusa says, turning his body away from the photographer in the hopes that Atsumu would be able to interpret his body language and backs off.

(He isn’t able to, and he doesn’t).

“No, no, look at this.” Atsumu all but shoves the camera in his face, tilting it sideways to show a picture taken in portrait mode. Sakusa scrunches his nose, leaning away to put some distance between himself and Atsumu’s camera, before finally taking a swift glance at the photo.

He stops.

He takes a second glance.

He stares, because he’s frozen to his feet.

_It’s a good photo. It’s a very good photo. It’s a very good photo of him. Everything, from the exposure to the positioning to the white balance- everything is perfect._

_As someone whose father is a professional and literally owns a photography studio, this photo is everything they’re looking for._

“Well? Well?” Atsumu pushes, a wide grin on his stupid face, obviously seeking for attention as he gloats about the picture that _he knows_ is perfect.

If Sakusa didn’t hate him half as much, maybe he’d entertain him. But-

Sakusa’s lip curls. Fucking brat. He’s not going to give it to him.

“It’s okay, I guess.” He says.

The other guy’s grin drops in a second. It’s clearly not enough for Atsumu. “Just ‘okay’?”

“I mean,” Sakusa meets his eyes, meets the intense and demanding expression in them. “I’ve seen better.”

Something flashes in Atsumu’s eyes, something that’s not quite anger but not quite humour as well. It’s gone just as quickly as it came as Atsumu forces air out of his nostrils and laughs. He pulls away, shuts the camera off, slings it back around his neck, and declares, loudly, “I’ll show you just how good I am.”

“Will you now?” Sakusa drawls sarcastically.

It’s not that he doubts Atsumu’s skill. He’s got the evidence to justify his bragging. He’s got the name for it, too.

It’s that he doesn’t want to give this proud, selfish bastard the attention he wants, not when this proud, selfish bastard had come tumbling into the gym to grab pictures of the team and of him for the past two months.

It’s _annoying_ , Sakusa always thinks, trying to focus on the set given to him and hearing the nasty click of a camera. It’s _distracting_ , trying to serve the ball as hard as he can but then seeing Miya Atsumu’s stupid face on the other side of the net and then subconsciously trying not to serve right into his face. It’s _unnecessary_ , because shouldn’t Atsumu be taking pictures of the other sports teams as well?

Turning back to the photographer, Sakusa notices the glint of challenge in Atsumu’s eyes as he backtracks, walking towards the door. “I’m going to take the best photo you and the school will ever see. Then, you’d wish that photo was of you.”

Sakusa can’t help the nasty grin that mirrors Atsumu’s face. “Good luck, you proud fucker.”

Somehow, the nasty slew felt less offensive than calling Atsumu average.

And he does.

The next week, Sakusa finds Kita on the cover of the school magazine. He’s looking upwards, his face tilted in a perfect angle that directs all focus to the volleyball thrown in the air as he prepares to serve. Again, Atsumu’s utilised natural light to perfection, and Kita’s almost shining in the photo itself, a relaxed grin on his face as his arm is drawn back. He’s in complete calm. Not an ounce of panic is on his features, and the light does nothing but soften that already still expression. Atsumu’s perfectly captured Kita’s personality in one photo alone. Like the picture he’d taken of Sakusa, Atsumu’s photos are perfect, and Sakusa fights the annoyed growl threatening to rip out from the back of his throat.

“What a fucker,” Sakusa says instead.

Kita blinks. “Me?”

“Miya.”

“Oh. I thought the photo was pretty good.”

“You’re not wrong.”

Kita blinks again. “So what do you-“

“I think I’m going to use the bathroom.” Sakusa declares, handing the magazine back to Kita.

“You’re not going to read it?” Kita asks. “You’re in it, too.”

“I am?” Sakusa’s sucked right back in immediately as they flip through the sports section, digging for the photo Kita’d seen earlier.

Kita grins in satisfaction as he locates it. “Right here!”

Sakusa nearly snorts. “What a fucker. That doesn’t count.”

Kita points to the tiny one-by-two inch photograph of Sakusa cluttered in the corner. “Whatever do you mean?”

Sakusa heads to the bathroom, taking his time as he splashes water on his face. He looks at his reflection in the mirror, frowns, and washes his face again. He stares at himself.

What a fucker.

He’s talking about himself.

Atsumu texts him that night.

_So? What do you think?_

Sakusa snarls at his screen.

_Average. Kita looks short._

The reply comes back in three seconds flat.

_You liked it._

Sakusa doesn’t deny it. After all, Atsumu would be able to tell.

_Still pretty average._

The next reply takes longer.

_You’ll want to have your photo taken by me._

Sakusa has met Atsumu before. Everyone has met Atsumu before, whether or not they really wanted to. As the head photographer of the school newspaper and (self-)assigned to the sports column, Sakusa sees Atsumu’s face more than anything, really, and if it isn’t for Atsumu’s constant _presence_ around him maybe Sakusa could be civil with him.

He just finds Atsumu _annoying_ , more annoying than talented and genius. He can’t even play volleyball. Sakusa doesn’t even know what sport Atsumu _could_ play, his entire body lacking in athletic cells and filled to the top with nothing but pride and arrogance. It’s evident in the way he holds himself, in the confidence of the grip of his camera and the self-satisfied smile on his face as he pulls up each photo, not even needing to delete any of them. Atsumu’s not a _bad person_ , per se, he’s just a piece of shit.

He’s been told that he’s a stingy guy. He’s been told that he has the personality of a piece of sewer mold, and it’s not like he _disagrees_ or anything, just that it’s funny how _he’s_ the one being compared to mold when _Atsumu_ is clearly the better comparison-

It’s his second year in the volleyball team, and he wants this year to be good. He’s playing with some of the best teammates he’s ever worked with, Atsumu’s brother included, and he just wants to make this the best season he can. He’s supposed to be on the top of his game, taking every opportunity he’s been given and using it to his best ability.

It’s just that…

Whenever Sakusa sees Atsumu waltz into the gym with that _camera of his_ , that shit-eating smirk on his lips as his entitled ass points those stupid, _stupid_ lens at them, at _him_ , he just wants to punch someone in the nose.

Like right now.

It’s five minutes into practice and his piss-coloured hair makes its appearance in the doorway, his left hand raised in a wave. He drops his bag by the door, right in front of the first aid box, in the way of everyone, and whistles to let the entire team know of his presence. A little click sounds as he turns his camera on, and he slings the strap over his neck. He raises the camera up.

_What the fuck._

“What are you doing here?” Osamu beats him to it, heading over to where Atsumu is already preparing his camera settings.

“Taking pictures,” Atsumu says innocently. “You’re not letting me do that today, captain?”

“Yeah, I’m not,” Osamu counters, “because we have a game tomorrow, and we need to focus today. You’re a distraction.”

“Aw, you’re so mean.” Atsumu doesn’t even spare him a glance. “What did you just say, again?”

“Get out.”

“No, I don’t think I will.”

Suna makes an amused noise in his throat. Sakusa shoots him a look.

“What?” Suna blinks innocently. “They’re not my problem.”

“Are you insane?” Sakusa hisses. “Don’t you think he’s annoying?”

“He doesn’t take any pictures of me,” Suna shrugs as Atsumu hollers, “I heard that, Kiyoomi-kun!”

“Fuck off,” Sakusa snaps. “I don’t have the energy for this.”

To his horror, Atsumu pries away from Osamu’s grasp and bounces over to him, a pleased grin resting daintily on his features as he gestures to the court with his chin. “Go warm up, Kiyoomi-kun.”

“Get out,” Sakusa pivots and turns in the opposite direction.

“Kiyoomi-kun!”

Sakusa ignores him.

“Hey, hey, Kiyoomi-kun!”

Sakusa picks up a volleyball from the cart.

“Why do you hate me so much, Kiyoomi-kun?”

He stops. He stares at the ball in his hands, then tosses it high into the air before spiking it as hard as he can into the wall. The ball deflects and ricochets off the wood with a smack, spins violently in the air, and lands by Kita’s feet. There’s a deafening silence.

He swears the walls would break. He counts his breaths.

  1. 2\. 3. 4.



Maybe it’s not Atsumu’s nose he wants to break.

Maybe it’s his own.

“That was aggressive,” Suna says after Atsumu left. “You didn’t have to do that, you know.”

“I’m sorry.” Sakusa apologises, and he really is, because he’d turned around to meet the wide eyes of more than just a few of his teammates. “I don’t know what got into me.”

“Yeah, sure you don’t.” Suna hums. “You can entertain him, you know. He’s trying to catch your eye.”

“He should fuck off while he’s at it.” Sakusa snaps. “I’ve already shown him more than once that I’m not interested in being the model for his _school magazine photos_.”

“It’s not that,” Suna starts. “I think it’s-“

“SAKUSA!”

They jump, turning around to meet Osamu’s stare. The other boy’s standing by the nets, arms crossed as the team huddles behind him. He gestures with his head to the court. “Let’s get started.”

He doesn’t get a chance to ask Suna what he means, because he gets his answer very soon.

The answer comes in the form of the piss-blonde boy, sauntering into the gym right at 6:00. He whistles, catching everyone’s attention, and Sakusa stares at him for an extra fifteen seconds before realising that the reason he looked _weird_ was that the camera wasn’t around his neck.

Osamu scowls. “What now?”

“It’s 6 o’clock,” Atsumu says cheerily, as if those three words explained all his intentions. “Time to pack up! Shoo shoo!”

“We have a game tomorrow,” Osamu argues.

“That’s more the reason to rest, don’t you think?” Atsumu grins.

Osamu opens his mouth to fire something nasty right back at him, only for Suna to tap him on the shoulder and say, “He’s right, you know.”

Osamu shoots accusatory daggers with his eyes at his teammate, but the words are out as the entire team starts humming their agreement. They start aiming the balls back into the cart, Kita and Suna making their way to the nets to take it down. Osamu sighs, shaking his head as he dismisses them, muttering something icy under his breath.

After helping the team clean up, Sakusa heads to the changing rooms, muscles already incredibly sore and energy well spent. He can’t wait to shower, go home, eat something warm, and sleep snugly in his warm, _warm_ bed tonight, a nice contrast from the November chill, and wake up fully refreshed tomorrow morning-

“Kiyoomi-kun.”

He freezes in his tracks and almost chokes on absolutely nothing. God. He knew it was coming. _He knew it was coming, so why didn’t he-_

“Can we talk?” Atsumu asks, gesturing with his thumb to the gym doors. “Please?”

Sakusa’s tempted to chuck his water bottle at his head. “No, I want to go home.”

“It’ll take thirty seconds,” Atsumu says defiantly. “It won’t take long at all. We’ll be done before you know it.”

Sakusa turns, taking a good sweep around to gym to find _something_ he can do as an excuse to avoid him. He comes up empty-handed.

“Fine.” He turns back to Atsumu, ignoring the golden grin that spreads across the other boy’s face. “Make it quick.”

Atsumu all but bounces to the doors, cheering as he pulls something out of his pocket. He unfolds the flyer and hands it over to Sakusa. “I need your help.”

Sakusa takes the crumpled flyer, smooths it out, and takes a good look at the content.

He stiffens. “No.”

“Please!” Atsumu begs, clasping his hands together and pouting, hoping his face would be convincing enough to get Sakusa to agree.

Sakusa cringes. “Stop. No thanks. I don’t want to be your model for- _whatever_ this event is.”

“It’s a competition.” Atsumu corrects haughtily. “It’s so that I can stay head photographer next year. Other people are competing for my spot, and I know I suck, so having an _extremely_ attractive model will really help me out!”

Sakusa doesn’t even blush at the comment. “Then let other people take your spot.”

“You’re such a bastard!”

“Besides,” Sakusa shrugs, handing the flyer right back to him. He pulls a bottle of hand sanitiser out of his pocket, an act that Atsumu does not miss, and the other boy visibly scowls in annoyance .“Don’t you already have a ton of pictures of me? Just use one of those.”

“Kiyoomi-kun, that’s called _cheating_. Besides, we have to be at this venue.”

“Where’s the venue?”

“Thought you weren’t interested.”

“Fuck off, is it so wrong to be curious?”

“It’s in the theatre,” Atsumu says. “The school magazine club is hosting a fashion show.”

Sakusa almost chokes for the second time that evening. “Ha, _you’re_ hosting a fashion show?”

“Not me!” Atsumu all but snaps. “Stop looking down on me! Are you going to do it or not?”

“I already told you, no way in _hell_.”

“Kiyoomi-kuuuun,” Atsumu whines, dragging out the honorific for much longer than necessary. “Just this once. And I’ll never bother you again.”

If there’s one thing Sakusa knows about Atsumu, it’s that he’s a liar. “Don’t even think about it.”

“What do I have to do?” Atsumu asks. “I’ll do anything. Anything you want. Just as long as you agree to be my model for the fashion show.”

“I’m not trusting a swine like you.”

“I promise you, Sakusa,” Atsumu says, and the switch of name catches Sakusa’s eye. He turns, where Atsumu is staring determinedly at him, the flyer crumpled in his hands. “I’ll do just about anything. I _need_ this more than anything, and you’re the only guy I know who’s naturally flawless.”

“You’ll do anything?” Sakusa arches an eyebrow.

“I… I- _Kiyoomi-kun,_ ” Atsumu’s face drops as Sakusa cackles. “Fuck off and give me an answer.”

He takes a while to calm down from his wheezes, a way to annoy Atsumu but also to give himself some extra time to think.

He doesn’t have anything to lose. He’s got time. He doesn’t see a reason why he shouldn’t. Atsumu’s a bastard but it’s not like this event would be some turning point for their acquaintance anyway. It’s not like he’ll hate him any less.

“Fine, I’ll do it,” Sakusa says, much to the disbelief of the boy in front of him. He swears Atsumu’s eyes are glowing. “One condition.”

“Anything,” Atsumu replies _way_ too quickly.

“Never take pictures of the volleyball team again.”

Atsumu’s face falls, and his mouth opens in a slack-jawed ‘O’. He blinks once, twice, three times, before frowning and saying, “But that’s my job.”

“Get another job,” Sakusa shrugs. “You have enough pictures of me to last a lifetime.”

“But-“

“You’re in charge of the entire sports column, aren’t you?” Sakusa pushes. “Then take pictures of the other teams, and make _them_ the cover of the magazine for once.”

He’s about to keep going, but the look on Atsumu’s face makes him freeze in his tracks.

The other boy’s not glaring at him. Heck, Sakusa doesn’t even think he’s _mad_.

He looks defeated.

“Then I’m going to have to ask you for one more thing, Kiyoomi-kun.”

“What now?”

“Let me come to the game tomorrow.”

Sakusa blinks. “Look, you can’t-“

“Please.” Atsumu interrupts. “Let me come tomorrow. It’ll be the last series. I promise. Then I’ll never take pictures of you guys again.”

Sakusa thinks of the annoying camera clicks every time he receives a set, the body that’s always _somewhere around him_ everything he serves, and he sighs.

“Better keep your promise, Miya.”

Atsumu beams. Sakusa’s chest hurts.

Sakusa’s the last one to get on the bus, due to Kita taking his sweet time trying to find his water bottle in their last class. Frustrated, they run down to the parking lot together, where the bus waits. Osamu’s standing by the doors, a nasty glare on his face.

“Five laps once we get back.” He says as Kita and Sakusa scurry onboard.

Kita plops down next to Aran, who nods in greeting, and Sakusa bites his scowl as he takes a good scan around the bus for an empty spot. The seat at the front next to coach is obvious for Osamu, which leaves one seat open-

Next to Atsumu, the fucker.

Atsumu looks up from his camera that very instant, and a pleasant, shit-eating grin spreads across his face. “Kiyoomi-kun! I saved a spot for you.”

_What the fuck._

“You’re going to curse the game,” Sakusa says as he walks over to his seat, pulling out a wet wipe and wiping down the chair, making sure to graze Atsumu’s arm while he’s at it. Atsumu whacks his hand.

“You can be a little more optimistic.” Atsumu snaps. “I’m going to make my last series the best ones I’ll ever take.”

Sakusa smirks. “I’m going to be in the photos.”

Atsumu shrugs. “That’s inevitable.”

They win the game.

Atsumu’s with the team, cheering and celebrating with them as they load the bus. He’s showing the first-years the photos he took, clicking rapidly as the younger boys ooh-and-ahh over every shot. Kita’s entertained too, hunched over the camera as he points out shots that he likes. Their shoulders are hunched and faces buried into their scarves, trying to brace against the strong winds. The tips of Atsumu’s ears are pink.

For some reason, Sakusa feels that he could get used to seeing this.

He mentally slaps himself for thinking that way.

He hears someone approach him, and he turns around to face Osamu. Osamu gestures with his head to where Atsumu stands. “Heard that you told him to stop with the pictures. Thanks.”

Sakusa swallows the lump in his throat. “It’s no biggie.”

“What was the cost?”

“I’m his model for the fashion show.”

Osamu arches an eyebrow. “ _Wow_ , he asked you?”

Sakusa narrows his eyes. “You’re not calling me ugly, are you?”

Osamu laughs. “Not that. It’s just that he asked local models for the past two years. He takes the fashion show very seriously. It means he trusts you. That’s a good thing.”

Sakusa swears his blood turned to ice. “Local models… _professionals?_ ”

“I guess you can call them that. I mean, obviously he gets the best photos, but I don’t think it’s necessarily the models’ thing. It’s just that they know what to do on the runway, compared to all the other candidates who are just our classmates, you know? It guarantees him an aspect of the shoot that he won’t have to worry about, so he can turn all his attention into getting the best pictures.”

Sakusa feels his face heat up. “Why would he ask me, then? Does he have a death wish?”

Osamu shrugs. “Why don’t you ask him yourself?”

He leaves to check in with their coach, leaving Sakusa to stand by himself at the rear of the bus.

Sakusa, who’s not really focused on anything other than the fact that he did Atsumu so dirty. Atsumu didn’t ask him because he wanted him to be uncomfortable. There was some sort of hidden trust behind the gesture, and Sakusa spat all over it like the _swine_ he is. He burns holes into the ground, his mind racing with hundreds and hundreds of thoughts and questions and demands. _Why me? Why me, when he can literally pick anyone else? Why me? Is this a joke? What’s he trying to do? Does he even know what he’s doing? What am I doing? Why didn’t I ask? Why-_

“Kiyoomi-kun!”

That snaps out of it. He raises his head and meets the sharp, golden gaze of a photographer, where Atsumu stands by the bus, waving a hand. Atsumu grins at him, and Sakusa feels an overwhelming, overwhelming wave of guilt.

“Kiyoomi-kun,” Atsumu grins devilishly, beckoning with his hand. “Get on! We’re waiting for you.”

Sakusa stares at him, at the boy who’s standing by himself by the bus doors while the entire team’s already inside, the wind blowing at his face and turning his nose red and his cheeks flushed. His eyes shine.

Sakusa wants to cry.

He doesn’t cry.

He smooths out his expression, clears his throat, and jogs to the doors, where Atsumu waits for him. They sit together, even though some team members had gone home with their parents and there were a good number of empty seats on the bus. They sit together, even though Sakusa knows he prefers sitting alone and he’s tired, _exhausted_ , actually, and he’s only slightly aware that he rests his head on someone’s shoulder halfway on the route home, a move so intimate and domestic Sakusa wonders how he’s allowing it, and how the other person sits still and sits quietly and doesn’t make a sound.

The realisation comes with a text message sent by Suna at 2 in the morning.

_Do you like Atsumu?_

Sakusa stares at the text message, scowls, and responds.

_No._

Suna’s icon pops up in their chat.

_Let me rephrase that, Sakusa._

Sakusa waits.

_Do you have a crush on Atsumu?_

Sakusa stares at his ceiling, then at his fan, then at the way the wall lights up with each incoming text from Suna.

_How do you avoid the inevitable?_

“What do you want me to do?”

“Walk down the catwalk, pose, and walk back.”

“What speed?”

“What do you mean ‘what speed’, Kiyoomi-kun? Just walk like a normal human being.”

“I’m sorry, professional photographer, but I don’t know batshit about modelling.”

“That’s a pity.”

“Excuse me?”

“Wear this.”

Atsumu shoves a suit at Sakusa, shooting him a thumbs up at the same time. Sakusa winces, taking a good look at the clothing presented to him.

It’s clean. It’s very normal. It’s dark blue, it’s a safe colour, and he won’t have to embarrass himself. He might even look good.

That’s not the problem.

The problem is with the boy that’s going to be staring at him while he walks down the runway wearing the suit. The problem is with the photographer, whose camera hangs from his left shoulder as he smooths out the suit, his lips pursed as he gives it another once-over. The problem is with said photographer’s sheer recklessness, something that forces Sakusa to clear his throat and say, “Miya?”

“What?” Atsumu continues to brush his hand on invisible dust specks.

“Why did you ask me?”

“‘Cuz you’re good-looking.”

“Miya.”

“What?”

“Why me?”

Atsumu stills, his hand lingering on the suit before he looks up at Sakusa, wearing nothing but a patient smile on his face.

“‘Cuz you’re cool, Kiyoomi-kun.”

Sakusa would be lying if he said his heart wasn’t hammering like some sort of construction project when he stepped out onto the runway. This is completely out of his comfort zone. The bright lights, the long stage, the many cameras aimed at his face, all the eyes watching his every move-

It’s starting to get a bit too blinding, and he’s starting to regret even allowing Atsumu to have dragged him here when he remembers the conversation they shared before he walked out.

_“If it starts to get too much, look at me in the audience. I should be in the middle, right in front of the stage.”_

_“Why would I look at you?”_

_Atsumu wrinkled his nose, and Sakusa thought he looked adorable. “Just trust me, you piece of shit.”_

So that’s what he does.

The light and the eyes and the intensity are starting to make him feel things, things like dread and fear and pain, so he scans the audience desperately until he meets a pair of sharp, intense, golden eyes. Their gazes lock, and Sakusa concentrates on the familiar face in front of him.

Atsumu smiles, before one eye is hidden behind a familiar camera. Sakusa stares. He walks. He doesn’t let it show on his face.

He hears the overwhelming clicks of several different cameras, but he's able to make out the familiar click of Atsumu’s. He casts his eyes out into the audience, and he takes a deep breath.

He thinks he did well.

“You’re very attractive, Kiyoomi-kun.”

“You’ve told me that before.”

“No, no, look at this shot. Look at you.”

“Fuck off. I look so weird.”

“I think I’m going to keep this one forever.”

“You know what I think? I think it’s better if you kept your opinions to yourself, that’s what I think.”

“Wanna tell me where I asked, Kiyoomi-kun?”

As promised, Atsumu doesn’t show up to any more practices.

Osamu asks Sakusa why he’s been performing far worse lately.

The next time Sakusa buys the school magazine, his face is on the cover. He nearly returns it, but from the look on the girl’s face who sold it to him, returning seems to not be an option. He stares at the picture of himself printed on the A4 cover, right in the middle of columns of text.

That’s because Atsumu won the runway contest, and he’s appointed head photographer for the third year in a row. Sakusa’s not surprised, and he’s really more relieved than anything because he doesn’t know what he’d do if Atsumu’d lost, other than blaminig himself over and over _and over-_

“Look at you!” Kita laughs, snapping a pic of the magazine. “Who knew you could pull off such a look?”

Sakusa scowled. “I look so angry.”

“You always look angry,” Suna shrugs. “I’m not surprised.”

But Sakusa can’t help but acknowledge that he’s lying. The picture is perfect, far more impressive than the one Atsumu took of him in the gym, and Sakusa will never admit that he spent a good fifteen minutes just staring at the picture when Atsumu sent it to him, eyes wide and shocked at how it turned out.

It’s a different vibe than what he’s used to seeing. There are no tired, sweaty volleyball boys in the photo, and Sakusa doesn’t look like he’d run five marathons before taking the picture.

He looks clean. His suit looks clean. Everything looks clean, pristine, and worthy of being on the cover of a magazine, even though it’s student led and the team has a limited selection of fonts.

Sakusa’s impressed, and he admits that it’s one of the best photos of himself that he’s ever seen.

“Is that the magazine?” Osamu calls, and the three of them look up to see the other boy waving as he walks over.

“Yeah!” Kita pulls it out of Sakusa’s hands and waves it in the air. “Our boy here is on the cover! Look at this sexy man!”

“Never describe me with that word again,” Sakusa warns as Osamu cackles and takes the magazine from Kita.

“Whoa, look at you!” Osamu’s eyes flicker between the magazine and Sakusa, who currently wears a scowl covered behind his mask. “Didn’t know you had this in you!”

“Can you _not_ , Osamu-“ Sakusa starts, only for someone to clear his throat beside him, catching his attention.

He turns and finds Atsumu standing there, shifting uncomfortably on his feet. The others notice the tension and leave in unison, but not before throwing finger hearts and wiggling eyebrows at Sakusa, right behind Atsumu’s oblivious back.

Sakusa glares at them before turning his attention back to the piss-haired bastard in front of him. “What do you want?”

“I like you.”

Sakusa freezes. An insult is lodged in his throat and he forces himself to recover quickly, arching an eyebrow at the flustered boy beside him, one hand clenching the strap of his camera strung over his shoulder, the other holding a stack of magazines to his chest. His face is twisted in a grimace, obviously extremely uncomfortable as his eyes grate over the article Sakusa’s holding. His face reddens.

“Do you, now?” Sakusa says, rolling up the magazine and unfolding it with a snap, turning to face Atsumu before sitting down at his desk, leaning forward and dropping his elbows onto his knees. Atsumu’s eyes follow his movement.

“Don’t do that.” He snaps. “I- I like you. I confessed. There. I did it. You can’t hurt me now! In fact, you should give me an award, because I’ve been keeping this to myself for a long time, and I bet you-“

“I know.”

“-don’t know a thing- what?”

“I know you like me. I knew you liked me since the day you came into the gym and pointed that disgusting, disgusting camera at my body.” Sakusa drawls, secretly finding amusement in the way Atsumu’s eyes widen in horror. “How could I not know?”

Atsumu looks like he’s about to pass out. “Why didn’t you _say_ anything-“

“It’s entertaining.”

Atsumu’s eyebrows dip down into a scowl as he glares at Sakusa, hands tightening around the magazines. “Kiyoomi-kun, you fucking asshat-“

“I like you, too,” Sakusa says, and it’s a lot easier than he imagined, even though his heart is beating a thousand miles a minute and he’s thinking about how _ugly_ Atsumu’s hair is. “You can rest assured. I like you, too.”

Atsumu gawks, losing all confidence and self-assurance as he shifts his weight from foot to foot. Never has Sakusa seen someone more awkward in his entire life. “You… you do?”

“Yeah.”

“How did… I… I, um, I… How?”

Sakusa sighs, staring at the magazine cover. His own stupid face stares right back at him. “Believe me, I don’t know, either. What I do know is that…”

He feels Atsumu’s burning gaze, so he turns and smiles, a grin hidden behind his mask but shown in the lines of his eyes. Atsumu takes a deep breath. Sakusa notes his white knuckles and iron grip on the camera. He reaches up and flicks Atsumu in the forehead.

“What I do know is that I wouldn’t mind it if you came to take pictures for us during practice.”

Atsumu beams, and Sakusa notes that he doesn’t look like a piss-haired piece of shit anymore, nor does he smile like the self-entitled bastard he thought he was.

To him, Atsumu smiles like the sun.

“Miya.”

“What is it?”

“The picture you took of me for the magazine…”

“What about it?”

“I think it’s truly impressive.”

-

“Why did you pick Sakusa, ‘Tsumu?”

Atsumu hums, picking up the messy pile of magazines on his desk and bunching them up, hitting them on the flat surface to even them out. “Great question. I don’t know.”

“It’s not because of your stupid crush, is it?” Osamu pushes.

Atsumu drops the magazines into a box and grins. “Sure it is.”

“You liar. Why Sakusa?”

Atsumu plops down on the bed beside his brother and leans back, hitting the mattress and spreading his arms wide on his bed. He smiles, and he closes his eyes.

“Because he’s really the most talented guy I’ve ever seen and met, and I want to see how far he can go.”

Osamu snorts. “Did you get your answer, you stalker?”

Atsumu grins. “I did.”

“What is it?”

“The stupid shit-eating fucker’s got a long way in front of him. What a fucker.”

Osamu laughs, and he keeps the amusement to himself.

**Author's Note:**

> HELLO to those of you who've made it to the end of my very self-indulgent and chaotic sakuatsu fic. There's just too much angsty sakuatsu in this fandom and though I love to indulge on those fics in the late hours of the evening, I think these two deserve some real fluffy good stuff, u know?  
> (but i had to give them some angst. what's sakuatsu without some angst)  
> I chose to have Atsumu's nickname for Sakusa be 'Kiyoomi-kun' as I think 'Omi-omi' or 'Omi-kun' is a very MSBY thing, but they're still in high school in this fic.  
> also i am very sorry if there r typos or spelling errors i am very blind so please let me know  
> Anyway, hope everyone is doing well! Kudos and comments are REALLY appreciated and I love hearing what you think!  
> Merry Christmas, and have a wonderful rest of the year!
> 
> You can also find me on [twitter!](https://twitter.com/annabelolee__)


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